A Reason to Stay -II- Book Two of the Tales of the Fourth Age Series
by Silverhand19
Summary: Frodo is preparing to leave Middle Earth forever, having found the pains too great to bear any longer. But at his birthday party, he might just find a reason to stay.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**

 **I do not own any right to the Lord of the Rings or it's characters. Any characters you do not recognize belongs to me, and the plot is partly my own creation and interweaving Tolkien's other works into it. This is book two of my Tales of the Fourth Age series.**

 **I love getting feedback to help me improve my writing so please don't be shy about it. If you have questions I'm happy to answer them :)**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Chapter One**

Frodo looked over the rolling hills from his porch at Bag End. He could see Sam's mallorn tree growing down in the party field, the hustle, and bustle around its small silver trunk as hobbit's prepared for his birthday celebration. Little did they know that it would be his last. He'd asked to celebrate it a week early, blaming the wounds that usually ailed him around this time of year.

Sam had suspected Frodo was up to something, but he said nothing and honored his master's request.

It had been three years since the One Ring had been destroyed and Sauron defeated. Saruman had attempted to ruin their home, but the spirit of the Shire could not be so easily broken. The Shire had been saved and had healed. But not Frodo. Some wounds cannot be cured; some hurts too deep to mend. Soon though, he would set sail on the last ship to the West and no longer suffer those pains. He just needed to wait one more week.

The night of the party everyone was buzzing with excitement. They were all expecting a surprise like Uncle Bilbo had done, but Frodo had no such plans. He hadn't prepared any fancy speech, no fireworks by Gandalf. No ring of power to make him disappear. Frodo wanted it simple because wanted to remember this night

But Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took had other plans. Hours before the party they had gone around and handed out masks to everyone who was going to come so that by the time Frodo arrived almost all of the partygoers were wearing them. Everywhere he looked people were wearing a variety of colored vests, dresses, and masks that he felt more than a little overwhelmed. "Sam, I asked for something simple," Frodo said wearily as they approached the tents that had been set up.

Samwise was perplexed, perturbed, and more than a little flustered. He's planned everything himself and had only invited a few close friends per his master's request. "I know, Mr. Frodo, I don't know what happened!"

Just then Merry and Pippin rounded the corner of one of the tents, ales in hand, talking merrily with each other and wearing the heraldry of their respective kingdoms. Pippin was decked in his black and silver uniform wearing his Gondorian helmet; Merry in the gold, white, and green of Rohan. Both looked rather pleased.

Sam's cheeks puffed out, "I should have known it'd be those two rascals." he looked at Frodo who gently placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. "Come on, Sam, no use avoiding it. Let's just enjoy the party."

Sam sighed, still apparently upset. "If you say so, Mr. Frodo. But I can't promise I won't use my position as Mayor to give them a bit of grief." He gave a crooked smile.

Frodo laughed joyfully. "Very well, Sam. Just remember that they answer to kings and locking them up would be unwise."

Sam snorted. "If you say so."

"Well look who it is, Merry," exclaimed Pippin as they neared Frodo and Sam, "it's none other than Frodo Baggins himself!"

"Aye, that it is, Pippin," Merry replied cheerfully as he took another swig of ale.

Sam narrowed his eyes, regarding them with a critical eye. "Just what are you two rascals up too?" he asked.

Both Merry and Pippin feigned hurt. "What are you suggesting?" said Pippin innocently.

"I believe our good Mayor thinks we are up to no good, Pip," said Merry, laying a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Sam retorted, putting his hands on his hips.

Frodo chuckled inside. He loved Sam as a brother and knew how protective Sam was over him, but he also knew Merry and Pippin had hearts of gold. Even if they did tend to cause trouble everywhere they went.

Pippin snorted. "Well, we're not. Just wanted to give our dearest friend the best birthday ever," he said, handing Frodo a mask of his own.

The mask was truly exquisite. It was fashioned from a single piece of onyx in the form of a dragon, its tail looping over one brow, the across the nose, and its head resting on the other; A single red gem set into its eye gave it an intimidating presence. Elvish runes were inscribed along the edge of the mask, and copper swirls created the effect of flames spouting from the dragon's mouth. It was work of art, and surprisingly, quite light.

Frodo looked at it with wide eyes and rubbed his fingers along the pattern of the dragon, reminded of his Uncle Bilbo, and he smiled. "Thank you very much," he whispered. He slipped it on at the beckoning of Merry and found that it fit perfectly; from the top of his brow to the tip of his nose it fit snugly and securely. The contrast between the mask and Frodo's startlingly blue eyes made them stand out even more than usual, and in his dark brown jacket with burgundy waistcoat, he looked quite dashing.

Merry raised his pint and smiled, "No finer hobbit in the Shire!"

"Come on then, let's join the party," said Pippin, "I've not had so much as a pint so far, and I seek to remedy that."

As Frodo and Sam walked passed them, Merry leaned towards Pippin and whispered, "Do you really think this is going to work?"

Pippin watched as Frodo and Sam joined the crowd and then looked at his partner in crime and smiled. "Oh, I think it just might."

Frodo found himself actually enjoying the party more than he had expected too. Sam had found himself in a group of hobbits discussing the upcoming vote, and the taxes and bills that sat on Sam's desk and Frodo could only smile. Being Mayor suited Sam.

As he milled around the field tasting the different treats and finger foods (along with a good portion of ale to wash them down), Frodo was thankful for his mask. Everyone in Hobbiton knew him, but the cover seemed to work as well as any ring of power in making him invisible to all but the most observant of hobbits. In spite of all the horrors, it warmed his heart to see so many young hobbits running about, laughing and squealing with joy. The War seemed so very far away in moments like this; like a dream that you can hardly remember and yet you feel it in every waking moment.

Frodo continued wandering, listening to the hobbits gossip and talk, not paying much attention to where he was going. As he came around a booth, he collided with something, sending him sprawling backward and spilling his ale all over him. After taking a moment to gather himself, he pushed himself up to see what it was he'd run into. To his surprise, it was a beautiful hobbitess; long reddish-blonde hair was done up in tight swirling braids with small white flowers tucked in them. Her jade colored eyes stared back at him in annoyance and her lips pursed in frustration. "I am incredibly sorry, miss," said Frodo jumping to his feet and offering a hand.

The hobbitess frowned and helped herself up and dusted off her dress. "Come to the party they said, it would be fun they said," she mumbled, "and this is what I get? A drunk hobbit barreling into people!"

"It was clumsy of me," said Frodo, trying again to apologize, though mildly irritated at her rudeness.

"Oh, apology accepted," said the hobbitess curtly, her cheeks rosy as her adjusted her cobalt colored mask. "Good nite," she said as she turned and disappeared back into the crowd of hobbits.

Frodo was left standing dumbfounded. He quickly followed and found her making her way out from the party. "Miss! Excuse me!" he called.

She turned around, glaring. "What is it now? Come to run over me again?"

"I never got your name to apologize properly," he replied weakly. _What a horrible excuse_ , he thought.

She crossed her arms, a delicate brow raised. "I do not believe that is any of your business," she replied tartly, tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear.

Frodo was taken aback by such rude behavior. She was undoubtedly from outside of Hobbiton based on her uncouth manners. He gave a stiff bow, "I did not mean to upset you, miss. I'll take my leave," and he turned and walked back to the party.

As he walked back, Frodo felt both irritation and fascination. This strange hobbitess intrigued him in a way he'd never felt before. She was fair but stormy in mood; her eyes engaging, yet aloof. Her voice like a bubbling brook but as sharp as an elvish blade. Everything about her seemed to be a mystery. Which made him think about her all the more.

Frodo found Sam, Merry, and Pippin sitting at one of the many tables in the field and inquired after the hobbitess. Merry spoke up first. "Oh, that's Arabella Bracegirdle. She's a feisty one, that one."

"Bracegirdle? As in the Bracegirdle's of Hardbottle?" asked Sam curiously.

"The same," Merry replied, "though to be honest, I've never seen so fair a Bracegirdle before."

"Perhaps she's adopted," Pippin offered, taking another big swig of ale. Merry elbowed him in the side causing his friend to choke on his drink.

Sam frowned. He still couldn't shake the feeling that those two were up to no good, but he couldn't place what it was. Frodo though listened in silence, replaying his encounter with Arabella as if he would find a clue to who she was.

The subject quickly changed to which hobbit had brought the best brew for the party and Sam staunchly defended his Gaffer's brew while Pippin favored a darker blend from the Northfarthing. As they had their friendly debate on the nuances of both beers, Merry leaned over to Frodo, "She's staying at the inn in Bywater," he whispered, "just in case you needed to finish your conversation with her." He gave Frodo a wink.

Before Frodo could reply the gathering began to call for the speech. Sam broke off his debate with Pippin and took Frodo by the arm, a habit he'd been unable to break since their return whenever he felt Frodo was tense. He led him to the center of the Party Field where the small mallorn sapling, now as tall as Merry or Pippin, stood with its shining silver bark and golden leaves.

"Speech!" cried the hobbits cheerfully, raising pipes, mugs, pastries, or whatever might be in their hands at the moment.

Frodo carefully stood on the stool that had been provided, a little unsteady after having several drinks himself. He took a deep breath. "I want to thank you all for coming to celebrate my birthday," he started. "It warms my heart to see so much happiness and joy returning to our beloved Shire."

There were many nods of agreement from those gathered, for they remembered well the Scouring of the Shire.

"The darkness beyond our borders tried to take something prec-" he choked on the word and faltered a moment. He took another deep breath, "They tried to take our beloved home. But they did not account for the stout hearts of hobbits."

The crowd cheered.

Frodo smiled, though it was slightly forced. "I am so thankful to you all." He stepped down as the crowd cheered again, though they had expected something more exciting given what his uncle Bilbo had done for his party. Frodo would cherish this memory long after he had sailed West.

The party lasted long into the night thanks to the host not disappearing halfway through it all. But if Frodo was honest, he wished he could. There was too much on his mind to actually enjoy the party like he wanted he could. He'd seen too much during the War; what innocence he'd left the Shire with had died in the fires of Orodruin. A shiver ran down his spine at the memory, and he tried to quickly push it aside.

At last the party ended and everyone who was still able to walk stumbled back to their homes, happy and content. Frodo walked alone back to Bag End, Sam had gone home hours ago to his family, and Merry and Pippin had passed out in the field surrounded by empty mugs. He looked up at the bright starry night; he'd always loved the stars, and they seemed to be brighter since the Shadow has been destroyed. They reminded him of the light that had been in Arabella's eyes. He smiled softly as he wearily shrugged out of his jacket, took off his mask, and slid into his soft feather bed, falling instantly asleep.

The next morning he got up and wandered the halls before finding himself standing in the doorway of his writing room. This had been his morning routine for the last three years, and soon he would be finished with it all. But he knew before he left he would put down one final story that had been told to him by Sméagol while in the Dead Marshes. It was the least he could do for that poor creature.

Two days later Frodo awoke to the sun beaming down on his tear soaked face. He'd had a beautiful dream; the kind of dream you have of loved ones long after they're gone and you finally get to say goodbye, or you see they are at peace. It fills you with warmth and comfort, even when you can no longer remember it.

As he rubbed his tear stained eyes into focus, he noticed a figure standing just outside his gate. Once he instantly recognized from the party: Arabella Bracegirdle.


	2. Chapter 2

_Four days before leaving._

Frodo blinked in the sunlight at the hobbitess, surprised and a little unnerved that she had been watching him. "Good afternoon, Arabella," said Frodo as he stood, straightening his vest.

Arabella smiled knowingly. "Good afternoon, Frodo," she replied.

Frodo noticed her hair was done up in a single braid that trailed over her shoulder; a few wisps had freed themselves and swayed in the breeze around her face. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the minor September chill and stood out against the cobalt blue dress she wore. She was quite stunning.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, looking irritated, though her eyes twinkled.

"Well, what?" Frodo asked, looking both confused and embarrassed.

Arabella put her hands on her hips. "Are you going to invite me in for tea or not?"

Frodo's mouth opened wordlessly. She was so forward!

"Um...yes, of course," he stuttered as he stepped up and opened the gate. He gave an awkward bow and silently kicked himself for acting so foolishly as he led the way into Bag End and to his kitchen. Frodo helped her to her seat, trying to remember his manners, before moving to get the fire going so he could make the tea; once that was done he grabbed some cheese and apples and began preparing those as well.

"You have a lovely home," Arabella remarked as he was getting everything ready. "There is an air of," she paused, thinking of the right words, "magic about this place."

"Thank you," Frodo replied, unsure of what else to say. He was still trying to figure out how he had gone from writing story earlier in the day to suddenly having tea with this strange, yet intriguing, hobbitess.

"Would it be to forward to ask if I might look around?"

*She thinks that is too forward?* thought Frodo. "Please, feel free," he said, slicing into another apple.

Arabella stood and walked into the next room where two high-backed chairs sat quietly opposite each other before a cold hearth. Pictures hung above the mantel and on either side and she inspected each one before turning around to investigate the table covered in maps and books that were set next to the garden window. Everywhere Arabella looked there were books, trinkets and other bobbles that had been given to him after the War had ended. "You've been a great many places," she stated, looking at a Gondorian vase that sat in one of the windows.

"I have," Frodo agreed. He looked down at his hands as he went to cut the last apple and saw they had begun to tremble. _Not now!_

Arabella entered the hall and saw another small room with yet another hearth, a writing desk, and piles upon piles of notes and books, one in particular, catching her eye. Bound in red leather and with golden inlays running along the edges of the books, framing it in. She ran her fingers along the lines, tracing the patterns with her eyes; there was something about this book that drew her in, something that captivated her. She opened it up to where it the bookmark was placed.

 _Into Depravity_

 _by_

 _Frodo Baggins_

Her brows drew up in surprise. Was Frodo an author?

A sudden crash sounded from the kitchen, and she jerked her head around. "Frodo? Is everything alright?" she asked as she walked back to where she'd left him. As she entered she saw no sign of him at first, then she saw his foot sticking out from the other side of the table. It was shaking.

"Frodo!" she cried, rounding the table to see him lying on the floor convulsing. Arabella felt his forehead, and it was burning up with fever. She looked around and quickly grabbed a nearby towel, dipped into some cold water from the basin, and placed it gently on his brow. Taking his hand in hers, she hummed a song to try and soothe him.

Finally, after several tense minutes, Frodo calmed down and slowly opened his eyes. He looked at Arabella, "I'm...afraid I...dropped your tea," he mumbled, smiling weakly.

Arabella gave a nervous laugh and returned the smile. "Then I suppose you owe me another," she teased.

Frodo chuckled softly as he tried to sit up. "Then I promise to honor that. For now though, would you please help me to my bed? I must rest."

She helped him to his feet and helped steady him as he guided her to his room. "Does this happen often?" she asked quizzically.

Frodo nodded. "A couple of times a year, though these are mild in comparison to some of the others."

Arabella wanted to ask more, but Frodo looked as if he was going to pass out any second, so she made a note to ask him about it later. They walked in silence until she eased him down into his bed, which he sank into gratefully.

Frodo heaved a sigh. "Soon I won't have to deal with this anymore," he mumbled to himself.

Arabella was going to ask him what he meant, but he was already asleep. She backed out of the room and quietly closed the door.

Three days before leaving

Frodo awoke the next morning feeling considerably better, and thankfully the fit had been a short one. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his curly black hair and stretched. He suspected he'd scared off poor Arabella and that he wouldn't be seeing her again. Frodo sighed. He was only going to be here a few days longer anyway, he really shouldn't get attached to anyone.

Frodo swung his feet out of bed, a strange smell hitting his nose. Suddenly he realized it was smoke. Something was on fire!

He rushed out of his room, following the smoky trail as it wafted through the halls until he finally reached the kitchen where he found Arabella attempting to put out the fire in the pan.

Frodo quickly grabbed a lid and dropped it over the pan, killing the flames. He looked at Arabella, who sported the same dress from yesterday with the same braid, though both were in slight disarray. She was coughing and trying to fan the smoke that was now filling the kitchen with the flames extinguished.

Rushing over to the window Frodo threw it open then turned around, hands on his hips with an irritated look. "What in the name of Arda are you doing!?" he exclaimed.

Arabella crossed her arms, her head inclining ever so slightly. "I was making breakfast." She gave a side glance towards the still smoking pan and gave a small shrug. "More or less."

Frodo could see bits of flour in her hair and on her face; her jade eyes confident despite her disheveled appearance. He felt he should be upset that she probably ruined good cookware and Valar knows what else, but he just started laughing. It was hearty, mirthful, and irresistible for she soon joined him laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

After they had recovered and wiped the tears from their eyes, Frodo asked, "Would you care to join me for breakfast?"

Arabella's eyes danced merrily. "I'd be delighted," she replied, "but I'm afraid I am not decent enough to go out in my current state."

"I'd be honored to escort you just as you are. You look lovely," state Frodo.

Arabella blushed deeply, and Frodo felt his own face flush with heat. It seemed in her presence that his mouth seemed to move of its own accord. As they stood in awkward silence for a moment, Frodo was struck by a thought and grinned wide before dashing off into the depths of the house, leaving Arabella quite confused.

When he returned a few minutes later he held up a simple, yet elegant earth tone dress. Delicate lace hung gracefully at the ends of the quarter-sleeves and around the bodice. The rich earthy browns of the top half blended beautifully with the soft summer green of the skirt. "What do you think?" asked Frodo, holding it up.

Arabella gave a sly smile. "I don't think it's your color," she teased, walking over to him and looked at the dress more closely. "It is a beautiful dress," she whispered after a moment.

Frodo beamed. "It was my mothers, and now it is yours."

She looked up at him in surprise as she ran her fingers over the soft fabric. "Thank you," she replied tenderly. "Now give me a moment, and I shall try and make myself presentable."

An hour later Frodo's stomach was protesting the lack of a proper morning meal, for by now it was nearing lunchtime. Hopefully, she would be ready soon.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind Arabella came back to the living room, and his heart skipped a beat. Her reddish hair hung free down past her shoulders save for a single small braid that ran behind her right ear. Her cheeks were flush, giving her a radiant quality; the dress fit her like it had been made for her, though it was just a tad long. To add to it all, she smelled of sweet lavender from the last month's harvest. She was breathtaking.

"Are you going to just stare, or shall we go to breakfast?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

Frodo snapped out of it and cleared his throat. "Um yes...of course." He stood and walked over to the door and offered his arm, smiling. "Shall we?"

Something had come alive in Frodo in spite of his best efforts to try and avoid getting attached. For so long he'd felt numb inside, the pain ever in his heart, mind, and body. He'd come to no longer recognize the hobbit who looked back at him in the mirror. Now the pain seemed to ease, and he almost felt... happy.

That thought alone made it that much harder knowing he would have to leave her three days hence. But he pushed those dark thoughts aside so he could enjoy this time with Arabella.

They walked down from Bag End together, arm in arm, towards the Green Dragon, catching many surprised looks from the hobbits they passed. Frodo didn't care, and Arabella didn't seem to mind either. Talk flowed naturally between them, and they laughed gaily together in the mid-September sun.

After having breakfast and lunch, they strolled about the countryside, Frodo telling her a little of the Fellowship's journey and its members. She hung on every word, and Frodo found it comforting to share it with someone other than Sam.

They sat under the branches of an ancient oak tree watching the last light of day sink towards the horizon. Arabella leaned her head on Frodo's shoulder, content. Frodo smiled, breathing in the scent of the autumn leaves, crisp fall air, and the sweet smell of lavender. He didn't want it to end but knew that it would. It must. "I'm leaving in a few days," he said quietly, hating to disturb the peace that surrounded them.

"I know," she whispered, emotions suddenly tugging at her. "I saw the letter on your table last night."

Silence settled upon them. As the last glimmer of sunlight faded and dipped below the horizon, Arabella spoke in a hushed tone. "Will you do something for me?"

Frodo nodded. "Anything," he replied, his own emotions barely held in check.

Arabella turned and looked at him, eyes glistening in the growing twilight. "Don't forget me."

Frodo's heart felt light it would be torn asunder, and he swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. "You," he said gently, "are impossible to forget."

As the stars came to fill the sky with their crystalline radiance, Frodo and Arabella sealed their 'goodbye' with a kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Day_

The next couple of days passed slowly and without joy; even the sun had wrapped itself in grey clouds. Frodo placed the last of his belongings in the back of the wagon that would carry him and his uncle Bilbo to the Grey Havens. Frodo wasn't sure if he needed to bring anything with them, but he thought it was better to prepare than be sorry he hadn't.

Gandalf came up next to Frodo and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Are you alright, Frodo?" he asked, eyeing the hobbit from under his bushy brows with concern in his eyes.

Frodo pondered a moment before replying. "I'm nervous, he said at last.

Gandalf nodded slowly, then gave him a warming smile. "You have endured a great many trials, Frodo Baggins. You have no need to worry, for nothing evil can follow where we now go."

Frodo nodded silently and climbed up into the wagon next to his uncle who was sleeping peacefully. Gandalf continued to eye the hobbit, his gaze ever keen, and discerning.

Upon a tree-covered hill in the distance movement caught Gandalf's attention, and he saw a man cloaked in green watching them with interest. Gandalf gave a small bow that the man returned in kind before slipping back into the cover of the trees.

"We're almost ready to depart," announce Gandalf as he climbed onto the back of his horse. "Our traveling companions should be arriving shortly.

Frodo had hoped to slip quietly out of the Shire without all of the heartache goodbyes bring. Before he could ask Gandalf who would be coming with him, he heard them off in the distance.

 _A! Elbereth Gilthoniel!_

 _silivren penna miril_

 _O menel aglar elenath_

 _Gilthoniel, A! Elbereth!_

 _We still remember, we who dwell_

 _In this far land beneath the trees_

 _The starlight on the Western Seas._

Frodo climbed out of the wagon to see Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel riding abreast each other at the head of a company of elves, and just behind them rode Sam, Merry, and Pippin on their ponies. For a brief moment, Frodo had hoped to see Arabella with them.

"You tried giving us the slip," stated Pippin, his usually mirthful attitude damped.

"If not for Gandalf we would have missed you leaving altogether," added Merry, none too pleased with his cousin.

Frodo looked at Sam atop his pony, Bill. "My dear, Sam."

Sam's eyes began to water, the hurt apparent on his face. "I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. 'Don't you leave him Samwise Gamgee.'"

Frodo's heart broke, for he knew that where he was going Sam could not follow. Not yet. "This is one journey you cannot make, Sam. Your time will come. Do not be too sad, Sam. You cannot always be torn in two."

"But, I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire, too, for years and years," cried Sam, tears streaming like the Anduin.

Frodo walked over to his dearest friend and took his hand. "I thought so, too. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved." He paused. "But not for me."

The memory of Arabella and him under the oak tree floated through his mind, but he pushed it aside. "It is how it must be," he continued, looking at his friends. They had followed him through fire, darkness, and back again. "Come now," he said, "ride with me one last time."

The company passed quickly and silently through the Shire with nothing but the soft echoes of Elrond's song marking their passing.

The Lady Galadriel spent much of the time speaking with Sam about his gardening and the work they had put into rebuilding the Shire

Merry and Pippin spent most their time talking amongst the elven warriors listening to their tales and flirting with the elleth who walked among them. Elrond had a bemused look on his face and was chuckling to himself listening to them.

Frodo listened to Sam as he spoke of his daughter, Elanor, who was now six months of age and how he had named her after the flowers of Lorien.

Bilbo had woken up at one point to declare he'd passed up the Old Took and asked Frodo about his ring before promptly falling back asleep a short time later.

For Frodo though, time seemed to crawl by, turmoil filling his heart the closer they got to the Havens.

Finally, they had arrived. Cirdan had opened up the gates and led them down to the docks, where a sleek gray ship sat bobbing in the sheltered bay. The sun was just beginning to set, catching the clouds on fire, and turning the sky to a shimmering golden hue.

Elrond helped Galadriel board first and then helped Bilbo up the gangplank. Gandalf leaned on his staff, smiling fondly at the hobbits before him. "Farewell. Here at last on the edge of the sea come the end of our fellowship. I will not say: do not cry. For not all tears are an evil." He looked at Pippin, smiling reassuringly. Both Merry and Pippin rushed over and embraced the wizard.

After returning their embrace, Gandalf looked at Frodo. "It is time, Frodo. 

Arabella sat under the same branches as she had with Frodo a week ago. Her hair was unbound, blowing in the soft autumn breeze. That same breeze was also drying her tears.

A few nights ago she'd had a dream of Frodo boarding a gray ship; He'd turned around and looked straight at her and smiled. His eyes were...

Arabella fell into sobbing once more. What cruel fate had destined them to meet only to rip them apart?

She could not say she loved him, for she had hardly got to know him. But she had wanted too, ever since she'd got the letter after the party. Through the tears, she unfolded it and read it for the hundredth time. 

_Dear Arabella,_

 _I cannot apologize enough for what happened at the party. I believe I have left a poor impression on you and I should like to remedy that if I still can. I humbly ask you to join me for tea tomorrow at one o'clock._

 _Humbly,_

 _Frodo Baggins_

At first, Arabella had dismissed it outright, but the more she thought about it she realized that he really must be sorry if he was going through all that effort. She had been quite surprised to find him asleep the next day on the bench outside his home. She had only been two hours late, but that had hardly been her fault. How was she to know that the hobbit she got directions from would spend most of the time talking about ale brews and the strangeness of the Baggins family?

Arabella wrapped her arms around herself tighter. That day had not gone well, to say the least, but that following day had been...magical. Hearing the tales of the Fellowship, of the elves in Rivendell, and of the White City. Of the simple hobbit who had given of himself.

It often was when things were in danger that someone had to give up what they had so others could keep what they had. Arabella thought it was very courageous.

The sun had reached its noonday point, and its heat was welcome to her chilled arms. She rubbed the warmth back into them before standing up. It was time to go back home.

Something at the bottom of the hill caught her gaze. Arabella's eyes went wide in shock, her breath hitched.

Walking up the hill was Frodo, tired and travel-worn, but taking each step with purpose. Arabella thought she must be dreaming. He was gone. He'd sailed.

Frodo stopped before her. Arabella reached out a hand and touched his cheek, then recoiled, covering her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. "Frodo?" her voice barely above a whisper.

Frodo smiled. "Hello, Arabella." 

He'd rode hard from the Havens to make it back, asking the Valar that he would find Arabella in time.

He'd almost left her. He'd boarded the ship, but the feeling of peace he'd expected to feel didn't come. Bilbo had come over to him and given him a sly smiled. 'You're not ready to leave, Frodo my boy. Your heart is still in the Shire.'

He'd been right of course. It was with Arabella.

Gandalf had helped him onto his pony, his gray eyes misty. "Goodbye, Frodo Baggins. May all the years of your life be blessed," said the wizard, giving the hobbit a quick embrace. "Now ride," he said, giving him a wink.

And so he had. Frodo wasn't sure if Sam and the others had followed him or stayed to say their own goodbyes, his mind was so set on finding Arabella.

Was it love? He knew love could make a person do things they wouldn't normally do, but he hardly knew her. There was something about her, though, that made him feel alive in a new way, and he wanted to see if she thought the same. Then, maybe, they could discover it together.

Now they both stood under the golden boughs of the oak tree, the noonday sun beaming down with joy and gladness. "I-I thought you sailed?" said Arabella, confused and afraid it was some phantom come to torture her in her grief.

Frodo took her into his arms and held her tenderly. "I found a reason to stay," he whispered in her ear.

Arabella's heart leaped within her, and she clung to him tightly. "What now?" asked Arabella.

Frodo drew back so he could see her face, slowly moving a tendril of hair from her face, before kissing her. He leaned his forehead against hers and said, "I believe I owe you a cup of tea."

Arabella giggled and smiling said, "I believe you do."

Frodo took her by the hand, leading her down the hill. Neither of them knew what was going to happen, but Middle-Earth seemed brighter when they were together, and for now, that was enough.


	4. Epilogue

Epilogue

Sam, Merry, and Pippin sat a table in the Green Dragon having a pint. They were travel-weary, and their hearts were still grieving; it is never easy saying goodbye. They saluted and cheered in their hearts for Gandalf, Lord Elrond, the Lady Galadriel, and Bilbo.

"I'd say the plan worked out splendidly," said Pippin cheerfully a while later.

It took a lot to dampen Pippin's spirit, and Sam was glad for it.

"Indeed," mumbled Merry through his drink. He wiped his face with his sleeve, a big grin on his face. "Don't forget, my dear Pippin, that we have Sam to thank for that."

Both of them looked at Sam, who sat across from them. "I don't know what you mean," Sam replied nonchalantly.

Pippin scoffed. "Don't you deny it, Samwise Gamgee! The party masks were all your idea."

"It added an air of mystery, it did," said Sam defensively.

"Not to mention that letter you so craftily forged and had me deliver to her room at the inn, inviting her to tea," added Merry before ordering another round for them.

Sam scowled. "Not so loudly, the both of you," he scolded. "It'd make things a proper mess if Mr. Frodo found out I'd been read'n his mail. Besides, all I did was...give him a little nudge as it were."

"You're starting to sound like Gandalf," said Merry, taking his drink from the serving girl as the others grabbed theirs.

"I'd be better for it having to deal with you two," said Sam sternly.

Pippin snorted. "Then I shall start calling you Samwise the Grey and expect you to wear a pointy hat as well!"

Ale shot out of Merry's nose, startling Sam and Pippin, but they all quickly dissolved into laughter.

A couple of hours, and many drinks later, Merry brought up something that had been on his mind since the night of the party. "Sam, what was it about Arabella that made you invite her?"

Sam looked at him, confused. "I didn't invite her, I thought one of you two did since you seemed to know her," Sam replied.

Merry and Pippin looked at each other. Sure they knew Arabella, but only in passing. They had thought Sam had invited her.

All three hobbits stared at each other, the same question burning in their minds: If they hadn't invited her, who had? 

The man crouched beneath the window outside had a rare smile on his face. Hobbits, but especially these four, had always had a special place in his heart. It gladdened him to know things had gone as he had hoped.

Upon hearing the voices he'd been waiting for, he risked a glance around the corner to get a good look. Frodo and Arabella came into view, arm in arm, laughing merrily together. The man nodded approvingly. Everything was as it should be. His job here was done for now, though he suspected he would be returning in a year or so. He still had much to do, and not much time to do it in. Standing, the man quickly blended in with the night. 

_Two months later._

The man held his cloak tightly around him as he walked through the waterfall and into the opening behind it. Worn away in ages past, the tunnel led to a broad valley, hidden away in the western part of the Ered Nimrais, close to the river Adorn.

As he left the darkness and stepped into the light of a chilly December afternoon, he cursed again that the waterfall was the only way into the valley. A light covering of snow lay on the ground, and he made his way as quickly as could be to where he hoped he would find a roaring fire and food prepared.

He neared the home where he'd spent the last two hundred years, give or take, of his life. It was a small wooden cottage for one who lived a simple life.

The man stomped the snow off the bottom of his leather boots and entered the home, greeted by the heat of the fire in its hearth. Another man was kneeling down in front of the fire, stoking it and brazing the meat. "I trust your trip was a success?" asked the man preparing the meal.

"It was," came the reply.

The man at the fire sighed when nothing else was said. He knew what was coming. He'd sensed its approach for the last year.

The man in the doorway walked over and spoke, his voice carrying with it the authority of his age, "It's time to return home, Boromir."


End file.
